For The Love Of Merlin
by accio.awesomeness
Summary: "Oh, for the love of Merlin!" he cried in exasperation. "MARRY ME, HERMIONE!" George can't figure out why someone interrupts every time he proposes. Hermione doesn't get what's taking him so long. Post-DH, sequel to "Watching". COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! A sequel to "Watching", set a couple years in the future. Many, many, MANY thanks to Zombie Reine for the idea for this story! You are awesome, and I have totally enjoyed messaging you these past few weeks. Days. Whatever. xoxox. This is only chapter one and I'll probably post chapter two in a couple of days, depending on how many reviews I receive. Yes, I'm a review whore. Hah. **

**Disclaimer: All settings, characters and such belong to J.K.R. **

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George Weasley rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to warm them up. He checked his pocket. Good, everything was set. He'd been planning this for days and it was an absolute secret – not even Fred had guessed, and Merlin knew how hard it was to keep anything from his twin. Only Ginny knew, because he had needed her advice with regard to The Most Important aspect of it.

Peering through the lace curtain, he grinned to himself as he spotted his girlfriend of three years standing by the pond. She was most likely looking for stars, as she usually did at this time of night. And – right on cue, she turned and climbed up on the low branch of the tree next to her.

He watched as she swung her legs in a childlike manner. He loved when she let loose a bit, became younger for a little while – and most often, it happened around this time.

George Weasley loved the predictability of his girlfriend. But as she suddenly stood up on the branch, took off her shirt and dived into the pond, he admitted to himself for possibly the seven-hundredth time that he loved her _un_predictability too. She sometimes exhibited very un-Hermioneish behaviour, as at the present time, and he grinned at her spontaneity. She probably knew he was watching, he watched her every day before coming out to sit with her.

But not today. He fully intended to change the routine – for the better.

A slim, curvy form pulled itself out of the water and shrugged on the shirt again. She brandished her wand, most likely casting Warming and Drying charms on herself, and climbed back up on the tree. Rather than sitting, however, she lifted her arms and hauled herself onto the next branch up. Her small frame climbed higher and higher, and the only thing keeping George from going out and stopping her was that he _knew_ that she would stop if she went too high.

She came to rest on a fairly thick branch about three metres from the top of the towering tree. It had been there in the garden since before George was born – before Bill was born, George knew. His mother had planted it as a house-warming of sorts.

For half an hour, he waited at the window, and she waited in the tree. It was tough work, trying to outlast her tenacity, but he persevered. He could never tire of looking at her anyway, right? That was why he'd gone to the jewellery store the other day, Ginny in tow. That was why the item he bought was currently encased in a little black box in his pocket.

He gulped slightly as she climbed down from the tree. He knew she'd be annoyed that he hadn't come out to sit with her, so he'd tried to prepare something to mollify her. With a flick of his wand, the kitchen walls turned to red and gold, the counters and stove vanished, the dining table disappeared and the only item left in the room was a tiny table bearing chocolate cake and a small key. He'd tried to represent everything she loved in the once-kitchen – red and gold for Gryffindor, chocolate, her favourite thing to eat, a key to symbolise home and love. And it wasn't just any key, it was a Portkey. One that would take them somewhere private the moment she accepted.

Through the years, he'd learned of her dislike for anything over-the-top romantic, so he'd vetoed Ginny's idea of soft music in the background. He hadn't made up a speech about his love for her; he hadn't ordered a bouquet to present to her. Instead, he had put together a room containing the three things he would promise her: chocolate, love and himself.

With a grimace, he remembered the slightly embarrassing conversation he'd had with Ginny the other day after she has walked in on himself and Hermione while they were… otherwise occupied.

"_You guys really need to cast anti-Apparition charms and block your Floo!" she had screeched when she came back later. _

"_You need to stop blaming us for the fact that you walked in while we were… erm…" Hermione trailed off._

"_In the throes of passion?" George suggested. _

"_Yes. That." _

"_Who the heck does it in the living room?" Ginny asked. _

"_You and Harry," Hermione answered patiently. "I Flooed to your house without calling and erm… yeah." Ginny blushed. _

"_Yeah, I don't want to hear about my baby sister's sex life," George put in from the side. The two women sighed and rolled their eyes. _

"_Anyway, I have that meeting to get to," Hermione sighed, picking up a file folder and standing. George automatically stood with her, their movements so synchronised, it was like they were two parts of one machine. He tugged the collar of her white Muggle corporate-looking shirt until it sat straight and kissed her gently on the lips. _

"_It will be successful," he reassured her, his hand slipping down to squeeze hers. "I'll probably be down at the shop when you get back," he reminded her, and she nodded. _

"_I know. And if you're not, -"_

"_You call me straight away," he finished for her. "And I'll come and get you." _

"_Bye, love," she said, smiling. "Wish me luck!" _

_He walked her to the door and watched as she strode to the Apparition point, turning on the spot in mid-stride. Closing the door with a snap, he turned to face his sister. _

"_So, dear sister, to what do I owe this visit?" he asked politely. _

"_You two look _so_ cute together," Ginny gushed, sounding oddly like Lavender Brown. George had run into her at WWW the previous day and he still shuddered when he thought about her attempts at flirting. "You should do it, George," she said abruptly, breaking into the haze of horror he had entered when confronted with the idea of Lavender Brown. _

"_Do – what?" he asked, bewildered. Was his sister suggesting – _

"_No, you prat," she snapped, flicking his forehead with her index finger. "I Flooed in the other day without calling. Hermione wasn't home. I saw you pacing around the kitchen, practicing." She leaned closer and George scowled as he realised that someone knew his secret. "You're going to propose!" _

_He nodded, unable to keep a smile off his face. After over three years of dating, he felt confident that she would say yes. The thought of Hermione Granger officially becoming Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley was enough to make him grin like a lovesick fool. _

"_When?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts yet again. _

_George mumbled something. She prodded him in the side when he avoided her eyes and he squirmed away from her fingers. _

"_What?" she asked, grabbing his chin. As she did so, she noticed that it was smooth and smiled in triumph. Hermione's influence. All the Weasley men thought they looked absolutely dashing with stubble – they didn't. Hermione had obviously cured George of the awful stubble. _

"_Iaventboarig," George muttered. Ginny sighed in exasperation. _

"_Don't make me ask again," she warned. "What the _hell_ are you saying?"_

_George cleared his throat. She waited. He cleared it again. Her foot started to tap. Recognising it as a sign of impending danger, he cleared his throat one final time before admitting it. "I haven't bought a ring," he said, shamefaced. _

_But his sister's reaction was absolutely unexpected. "Reallllllly?" she squealed. "Can I come with you to pick out a ring? Please? Please? Please?" _

_George stopped her before her repetitions became too annoying. He really didn't have willpower when it came to Hermione or his sister._

"_Fine," he agreed. "I'd been planning to ask you for help anyway," he lied. Her face glowed, and she immediately grabbed her handbag from the sofa._

"_Wha –" he began, but he never got the word out. Ginny commandeered his arm in a vice-like grip, dragging him out the door and to the Apparition point. He barely had time to cast a Locking charm before she Apparated away. _

_Unfortunately for George, letting his sister help him pick out a ring resulted in what was possibly one of the most tiring afternoons of his life. It started off all right; he was excited and everything. But as the siblings went into jewellery store after jewellery store, his excitement wore off to be replaced by exhaustion. He was not bored; most certainly not. But as everyone who shopped with Ginny eventually discovered, her love of Quidditch was only topped by her obsessive need to find something PERFECT. _

_After visiting five jewellers, two silversmiths, two department stores and even a grotty little pawn shop, they entered a tiny jewellery store located in a dark alleyway off Diagon Alley. And it was there that they found the perfect ring – a golden, exquisitely carved band with tiny diamonds encrusted along the top and bottom. As Ginny took the ring to the counter and George removed his coin pouch from his belt, his wand vibrated. Cursing, he tossed the black, worn leather bag to Ginny and yanked his wand out of his cloak, putting it to his ear. "Hermione?"_

"_Hey, George," came the reply. "Where are you?"_

"_Erm – in Diagon Alley," he replied lamely. "I'll meet you at the shop?"_

"_Sounds fine. Love you," she said before ringing off. Even after three years, those words never failed to send tingles down his spine. _

"_I love you too," he said, and tried to put every ounce of sincerity he could muster into the four words. He muttered a spell to end the wand call and stuffed it back in his cloak. _

"_Got it!" Ginny crowed triumphantly. She threw his bag back at him and he secured it to his belt, holding out his hand for the neat black box she held out. He cracked it open, making sure it was the right ring, and put it with his wand for safekeeping before he Apparated himself and Ginny directly into WWW, almost squashing Fred in the process. _

George's heart thumped in his chest as Hermione drew nearer and nearer to the kitchen door. He wondered in the back of his mind if all men got this nervous before proposing. As he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, he dug out the little box from his pocket and opened it, checking for the seventh time that night if the ring was still there.

A slight creak as the doorknob turned. He swallowed, his throat dry as he saw her silhouette through the frosted glass. She pulled the door slightly, turned the knob all the way to the right and pushed. The old door would open no other way.

Heart in his throat, he watched as she stepped inside and shut the door quietly, turning to hang her cloak on her designated hook – and then froze as she noticed the absence of one.

He stepped forward and her eyes widened as she took him in, and the room around him. Her eyes travelled once, twice around the room before returning to him, sweeping up and down his tall frame. She obviously appreciated his black button-down and dark-wash jeans. He cleared his throat nervously, imagining what Ginny would say were she eavesdropping – which she probably was. _Stop clearing your throat, George. She'll want to take you to St. Mungo's._

"Hermione," he said, infusing his voice with the love he felt for her. "I love you."

Her expression, which had been steadily becoming stonier, softened somewhat.

"Why didn't you come out?" she asked quietly. "I waited."

George smiled slightly; he had been expecting the question. "I wanted a little variety in the routine. And – I planned this for you," he told her, motioning to the modified kitchen with a sweep of his arm. "I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

Her eyes zeroed in on the piece of cake and he grinned knowingly. She had a terrible weakness for chocolate and he had exploited it in every way. He stepped in front of it, obstructing her line of vision, and waited.

Right on cue, Hermione scowled.

"Not yet," he warned her. "You'll get your chocolate cake – but first you need to answer a question."

"Okay," she said, looking curious. George started getting slightly suspicious. Not that he wasn't happy that things were working out so smoothly, but he had expected her to figure it out by now.

"Hermione, you are everything I could look for in a woman. We –" he paused to take a breath and he watched her face carefully. "We've been dating for over three years, and I think," he slipped his fingers into his pocket for the black box, locking his fingers around it, "I think it's time that we –"

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

Yawning loudly, Ron Weasley stumbled into the kitchen, dressed in striped pyjamas that were a _little_ too short around the ankles.

"Milk," he groaned, not noticing the decoration – not even noticing Hermione and George, who very both shooting Ron _looks_. Hermione was staring at him in disbelief – who wakes up to drink milk at midnight? – and George was glaring daggers at him.

Despite the gazes drilling holes into his back, Ron slouched dazedly to where the ice pantry was – the wizard version of a refrigerator. As his hand groped uselessly in midair for the handle, it finally clicked.

"Milk?" he asked stupidly. It was only then that he noticed he had company.

"Ron? Out." George snarled. Ron blinked once, twice, three times. His groggy eyes took in the red-and-gold, the cake, the key, George with a hand in his pocket, fingers clenched around what looked like a small, square box.

George waited for it to click.

And unfortunately, because it was Ron, it didn't. He did, however, mumble something about 'sorry if you guys were busy' and shuffle out of the kitchen, milk-less. George ran a hand through his hair and turned to face his girlfriend – who was nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, he ran in to the living room, his eyes sweeping each corner for signs of tangled chestnut hair. He spotted it hanging over the edge of a couch and crept over to investigate.

His heart sank. Everything had been going so well, why did Ron have to bungle it up? As he stared at his sleeping girlfriend with tenderness and more than a hint of annoyance towards Ron, he pulled out the ring box one more time.

"I'll make a Plan B," he promised it. "You are _not_ going to waste." Sighing, he conjured a blanket and tucked it around Hermione, getting another one for himself. He settled down on the floor next to the sofa and flicked his wand at the kitchen. Although he couldn't see, he knew the furniture had reappeared and the walls were back to normal.

A good plan down the toilet.

He snuggled deeper into his blankets, mind already whirring. Plan B needed to be more subtle, needed to have more of the surprise element and most of all – needed to be distraction-free.

He smiled as a line of action occurred to him. Nothing would stop him this time.

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**R&R! Hope you enjoyed it. Keep your eyes open for chapter two!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Second chapter upppp!  
Okay, so I'm a _tad_ disappointed. "Watching" got a bigger response than I expected and this one seems to have flopped a teeny bit :( I guess I got used to waking up with lots of emails from in my hotmail inbox, yeah? But keep the reviews coming, guys, and I'll try and R&R a fic or two from every single person who reviews.  
Oh, and sorry for the delay in posting this. Test week this week, I have been FREAKING OUT. Grroarr. I had planned to post this when I was done with chapter three but... yeah. I didn't want to keep people waiting any longer. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing about the characters and settings and such belongs to me. Although I wish it did. **

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"So then, we light it up and –"

"I got it, I got it."

Sinister whispers could be heard in the shadows of the Burrow. Two lanky, red-haired figures crept along the side of the house, pausing under a window and levitating themselves up.

"Why are we doing this again?" Ron hissed. Fred looked down at his brother.

"Because, my dear Ronniekins, Bill and Charlie rigged a bucket of flour to fall on my head the other day. This is revenge."

"I still don't get why _I'm_ part of it," he grumbled.

"You're there to distract them while I set up the prank," Fred told him. He opened his bedroom window with a practiced press-and-flick (he had learned how to open it manually, since his wand would be occupied with Levitating him) and climbed inside, Ron right at his heels.

All right, so Ron wasn't exactly a necessity when it came to this prank. Sure, he needed someone to distract Bill and Charlie, but the most-asked question of the day was: why not George?

And, Fred thought sourly, _why not? _His twin had been mysteriously AWOL the last few days. He had seemed preoccupied, seemed to be conspiring with Ginny, was tiptoeing around Hermione, for some reason. Perhaps they had fought? Surely not.

And all the whispering with Ginny. His sister was forever dragging his twin off to various places. He never even got a chance to find out where they went, they Apparated so quickly. If he didn't know better, he would suspect his twin of pranking _him_.

"Where are they?" Ron asked, breaking into Fred's thoughts. He pointed to a nondescript brown box in the corner of the room.

"Right, Ron," he said decisively, snapping himself back into prank mode. "You go ahead and start distracting Bill and Charlie. Don't make it obvious, though."

"I'm not dumb, I got it the first time," was Ron's answering grumble as he slouched out the door. Fred, meanwhile, dumped the box in the centre of the already-crowded floor and circled it, wondering what the best way to tackle it might be.

"Let's see… _Dimuendo. Indespectus._" Satisfied with his work, he groped around on the floor until he located the shrunken, invisible box of doom, and cupping it in his palm carefully, crept downstairs to rig up his trap, passing Ron en route, who was talking loudly about brooms.

George was cold.

In fact, he was very cold. It was an unusually chilly night and he hadn't enough on. He shivered as he stepped out onto the porch, hugging himself to keep warm. The simple thing would be to go inside and get a jacket, but he was out there for a reason.

Hermione was sitting in the tree again. He was glad she had decided not to jump this time, as the water was probably a degree or two from icing over. Strolling over the lawn to where his girlfriend – he sighed sadly at the term – sat, he wondered how she took the cold. She only had a long-sleeved shirt and a thin jacket on.

"Hermione, love," he said as he reached her. She turned, and smiled at the sight of him. "Aren't you cold?" He shivered slightly to emphasise his point.

"Yes, I am a bit," she replied absently. "George, look, I can stand up on it without falling." Grasping the branch above her, she shakily stood on the icy branch. George automatically moved under her, ready to catch her should she fall. When she was ready, she slowly let go of the branch. She stood tall above George, chuckling.

"What's funny?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"I'm just enjoying being taller than you for once," she explained, giggling. He couldn't help but smile at her gaiety; it wasn't often she was so innocently childish. Hermione, like him, like Ron, had grown up with Voldemort hanging over her head. George sometimes felt like she needed a break – even though the war was over.

Hermione's foot slipped on some frost on the branch and George's breath caught. But she reached up at once to grasp the branch above her and steadied herself. He let out his breath in a big _whoosh_.

"How do you _stand_ the cold?" he asked her incredulously, watching as she let her arms drop from the branch again.

"Just for a little while longer, George. I still have that report to do for work, I can't sit and stare at the stars all night."

"Are you implying that you'd only come inside to complete your work?"

"Yes," she said with mock surprise. "What else should I come in for?"

"Cheeky little snob," he muttered, shaking his head. He shot her a grin, his eyes beaming out at her from under his lashes. She laughed again, looking up into the sky. She did not hold onto the branch for balance, and George knew why. She trusted him implicitly; knew he would not let her hit the ground.

"How are things?" he asked her, still not relaxing his position beneath the branch she was standing on. His question made her smile. A three-year relationship and he never forgot for even a day to ask how her day had been.

"Not too bad, all things considered. My boss is still as awful as ever." She smiled ruefully as a new thought occurred to her. "I find myself resenting paparazzi attention, but somehow I resent even more that my boss can't be nicer to me. Although, it is refreshing, in a way," she mused. "Not to be treated like God's gift to mankind."

"Keeping Muggle religion out of it, what exactly did your boss do?" George asked her. He didn't know much about Muggles and their "God", but he had learned enough from Hermione to know what she was talking about when the occasional Muggle phrase slipped out. It was happening more and more often since she'd made up with her parents.

It had actually been George's doing; in fact, he still swelled slightly with pride when he thought about it. And now he came to think of it, there were actually _three_ people who knew he was going to propose to Hermione. Ginny and Mr and Mrs Granger.

The idea had struck when he had seen Hermione stroking what looked like a piece of paper. Peering over her shoulder, he discovered that it was a Muggle photograph, and could just make out a girl who was obviously a young Hermione in between two people he supposed were the parents. The trio looked so happy together, he wondered how they had let anything come in between them.

It had been a week since Ginny had found out and he was still in the midst of planning the perfect proposal. He had orchestrated it so that the day he proposed was exactly one week away from her birthday – he thought it might be nice to announce it there.

For a while, he had considered proposing on her actual birthday – but vetoed the idea when he remembered how Percy had proposed to Audrey. In the chaos of a courtesy-Weasley birthday party, it was hard to hear over the noise, forget about getting everyone's attention for an announcement.

The night after seeing the picture, George had tossed and turned in bed for a long time. In a subtle way, of course, so as not to wake Hermione, who was sleeping beside him. Somehow, getting a glimpse of the parents had awakened some dissent in the moral part of him, although he could not for the life of him figure out what his conscience was yammering on about.

Ring? Check.

Location? Check.

Suitably romantic speech-ish thing? Check.

So what was missing? He thought back to a conversation he'd had with his father as a seven-year-old child.

"_George, do you know how I asked your mother to marry me?" Arthur Weasley had asked while digging a shovel into the hard-packed dirt. _

_George shook his head no. _

"_Well, I simply got down on one knee and asked her to marry me," his father said with a chuckle. George opened his mouth in protest, but his father wasn't finished yet. "The important thing, George, is to get the permission of the parents. A girl can never be happy knowing her parents don't approve. So the day before I proposed, I Flooed to the Prewitts' place and had a chat with Mr and Mrs Prewitt. And they gave me their whole-hearted permission. Whoever you end up marrying, George – make sure the parents agree."_

As he was ripped out of the memory, it hit him in a flash. _Hermione's parents._

As far as he knew, they still had not made any efforts to contact her at all. How was he to get her address? For there was no doubt in his mind that he needed to get their permission.

He'd ended up asking Harry, who gave it to him, albeit with a suspicious look attached. George had Apparated to the neighbourhood, taking care not to be seen by Muggles, and knocked on their front door. He had told Mr and Mrs Granger, in no uncertain terms, that Hermione was a beautiful, intelligent, wise, funny, loving and all-around wonderful girl, and asked for their blessings. They gave it, almost immediately, and asked to see her.

Not sure what reaction this would receive from his soon-to-be fiancée, he gave the Grangers directions to Ottery St. Catchpole with the promise that they'd not say anything to Hermione about his visit. The very next day, they'd turned up a shiny blue car, which was neat and trim and unscratched. The Grangers climbed out warily, looking for their daughter.

Not everything went smoothly, as was to be expected. But after many tears, much time spent comforting Hermione and a whole shitload of apologies from all sides, the day ended with a promise to meet again sometime soon. These days, Hermione went at least once a week to have lunch with her parents.

"… and then he ripped it up and stuffed it in the bin! The _nerve_ of him, can you believe it?" Hermione was saying. George snapped back to attention, and tried to connect the dots. Judging by what he had heard, the boss, a foul old man named Edmond Clyde, had ripped up a well-written report without reading it. George did not have to fake the mixture of anger and sympathy on his face; Hermione's situation reminded him a lot of his during Umbridge's time.

"Well, if he doesn't want to read a well-written report, that's his prerogative," Hermione finished, shrugging. "I have a one-year contract with this job, once that's over – and that's in two months – I'm resigning. Theo Nott offered me a place with his company, doing research and such."

"It's a good plan. Just ride out the last two months in this job and take the other one. But you should probably let Theo know now, so that he'll keep the position open for you," George suggested.

"Oh, he saw Clyde ripping my report. I'm as good as hired," she replied airily.

"And when you walk out of those doors, Clyde will regret losing you," George promised. Then a pause. "Okay, that didn't come out the way I meant it."

Hermione laughed. "He damn well _will_ regret it. I was thinking, since he's bent on deeming my articles unacceptable, that in my last two months I'll write for another paper, like _Businesswizard _or _Kaddles_," she told him. "Really good articles, so that he'll see that I don't need his job, I can get one elsewhere all too easily."

"Will you be allowed to do that?" George asked worriedly. As much as he loved breaking the rules, he didn't fancy the idea of his girlfriend – ugh, that word again – being carted off to trial.

"Technically, I'm freelance," she reminded him. "All my contract says is that – " her breath hitched once, as if she were about to sneeze, but she stopped it, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "All it says is that I have to write whenever _The Oracle Muse_ requires it. I just chose to write for only them, since firstly, I'd get paid even if they didn't like it and secondly because I had enough war money left to tide me over. But now –" he breath hitched again, hitched twice… and she sneezed, muffling the sound in her sweater sleeve.

And as she did so, her foot slipped off the icy branch.

"It's all done?" Ron asked as he approached the designated meeting spot.

"Yes, and brilliantly if I do say so myself!" Fred exclaimed. Ron could almost _hear_ the grin on his face.

"And now?" Ron queried as he sat himself on the ground, shivering despite the many layers of warm clothing and a periodically cast Warming charm.

"And now, we wait," Fred said with a manic smile. He, too, shivered slightly in the icy wind. His breath blew puffs of white mist into the negative-degree air.

"That's them," Ron muttered suddenly, pointing to two silhouettes in a window. One was significantly taller and thinner and the other was shorter to some extent, although with somewhat more significant muscles. Despite not wanting to take part in the prank initially, he found himself tensing with excitement as their victims neared the kitchen.

And just as Fred tensed for the inevitable explosion, he saw two figures right beside the kitchen door. One looked awfully similar to him and the other was very obviously feminine.

His twin was on one knee.

The horrifying significance struck him at the exact moment Bill and Charlier walked through the kitchen door, and as he darted forward in a useless attempt to stop the Wildfire Whizbangs from detonating, he just heard the start of a "Hermione Granger, will –" before the night exploded.

George's heart did the most marvellous backflip, landing in his throat and sinking to his knees before bouncing back up again as he saw her dainty foot slip off the branch, saw her cute little mouth open in shock as she tumbled from the branch.

It was the fear in her eyes that jarred him to action.

It was lucky that he was standing right under the branch, because he would not have been able to catch her otherwise. Even standing right underneath, it was difficult to force his frozen muscles to move, and as he stumbled forward to catch his beloved, his stiff knees almost gave way.

But then she was there, safe and warm and in his arms, staring up at him with relief and trust and a love so strong it left him breathless. He knew now was as good a time as any for proposing, but he needed to get closer to warmth first – he could barely speak without his teeth chattering.

"I've got you," he whispered, over and over until she wriggled out of his arms and stood toe-to-toe with him. She kissed him sweetly, pulling his head down to give herself better access. Automatically, he tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging her closer with the other hand. His body, which had been feeling rather cold and neglected, warmed up again the moment her tongue touched his. His thumbs grazed the small, exposed bit of skin between her shirt and her pants and he felt her shiver of pleasure. He kissed her fiercely again, wishing that she was wearing his ring.

He broke away for a second to trail kisses up her neck before she pulled his head to hers again and their lips pressed together once more.

It was then that he noticed she was shivering, and he quickly broke away, casting a Warming charm on her. She pulled a disappointed face, and as always, George smiled mischievously at her, a smile promising more fun later – with Silencing Charms, of course.

Hands intertwined, they strolled together back to the kitchen, talking about WWW and new product ideas and ways to show Hermione's boss up. And all the while, George gathered his courage, felt for the little box he had now taken to carrying around everywhere and spun around, turning Hermione so she faced him too. They were just a metre away from the kitchen door and he saw her eyes dart to it longingly, saw a flash of confusion in those hazelnut-coloured depths. Why was he keeping her away from warmth and food and chocolate?

He held her hand until he was sure she wouldn't move, and then he knelt slowly in front of her. Watched her eyes open wide in hope and love. He reached into his pocket, grasping for the little box.

"Hermione Granger, will –"

He never got the full sentence out.

The night exploded in a thousand different colours and distinctly male yells could be heard from inside the kitchen. Hermione leapt to the kitchen door and yanked to open, to see Charlie grimly nursing a burn on his left arm and Bill running away from what appeared to be a firework dragon trying to bite his bum. She couldn't help giggling a bit, and turned to George, where she stopped in surprise. Still on one knee on the floor, he had the bridge of his nose pinched between forefinger and thumb, and he got to his feet slowly, casting a livid glare in the direction of a rapidly-approaching Fred.

"George? Why are you so angry?"

"Because," George snarled, "that was a Wildfire Whizbang and it just ruined my – my –" he faltered, not wanting to propose in this manner. Eventually he shrugged, letting out a grunt of annoyance. Clambering down the porch steps, he came face-to-face with his twin and younger brother, fixing them with a glare of which Molly Weasley would have been proud. He waited until Hermione had gone inside and shut the door softly before he cast a _Muffliato_ and let loose.

Several apologies later, George lay in bed with Hermione, unable to sleep yet again. It seemed that his various family members were conspiring to halt his proposal.

_Time for a Plan C._


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, I was on the computer for like three hours straight writing this, and... doing other stuff. Like waiting for my Vampire Diaries download to complete. Just for the record, does anyone else watch that? Or rather, who else thinks that Damon is the sexiest vampire _ever_? **

**Anyyyyway, chapter 3! Enjoy. R&R.**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. No recognizable characters, settings and general plotlines belong to me.**

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Ginny said, pulling a brush through her long, red hair. "The _first_ time you tried to propose, Ron came in for food. The _second_ time, Fred and Ron played a prank on Bill and Charlie."

"Yeah," George said.

"Ron took part in the prank-playing?"

"_Yes_," he said impatiently.

"Sorry," Ginny apologised. "Just making sure. Do Bill and Charlie know he was involved?"

"Doubt it. Why?"

"No, no…" she said, waving her hand to cut him off. He thought this was a rather odd answer to his question and he opened his mouth to say so, but she cut him off… again. "Have you noticed that in both of your failed proposals, there was a common factor?"

George thought back. On Sunday, Ron had stumbled in looking for milk. On Tuesday, a prank had been pulled by Fred and… Ron. He ground his teeth together.

"Yes, Ron," his sister confirmed.

"What are you saying?" George asked, blinking at her confusedly.

"We need to get Ron out of the house while you propose," she told him matter-of-factly.

"Wait, why do I need to propose in the house?"

"Mum's got us on lockdown," she reminded him. "There's two days until Percy and Audrey return from the honeymoon and she knows we'll try to escape. I tried Apparating out, I couldn't."

"Are you sure you can Apparate properly?" he asked her dubiously. She shot him a glower through her fringe.

"Anyway, what's the plan?" she asked him, pinning one side of her hair back with a black clip that had a flower on the end.

"Erm – kidnap Ron, tie him up and stuff him in a cupboard?" George suggested. The idea was vetoed immediately.

"Gag him and shove him under a bed?" This, too, was met with disdain.

"Use a Canary Cream on him and put a Body-Bind on him while in canary form and _then_ stuff him under the bed?" George offered with an edge of desperation. Ginny glared at him.

"Why do all your plans involve ropes or gags or other forms of immobilisation?"

"Well, what do _you_ suggest?" he scoffed, slightly rattled by the easy dismissal of his plans.

"I was thinking of sending Ron for an early morning swim. You could maybe take Hermione up to the roof and propose at dawn?"

"Wow," was all George could say. "You're brilliant, Gin!"

"Always the tone of surprise," she said wryly. He smiled at her quotation of Hermione. She shook her head, standing up and placing her hairbrush in a basket on her vanity. "Honestly, George. I knew you didn't have a romantic bone in your body, but that was a teensy bit pathetic." She grinned at him so that he wouldn't be offended, and flounced out of the room, leaving a trail of some flowery perfume in her wake.

* * *

"Hermione!" she heard a voice calling. Her head whipped around automatically – just in time to get hit by a ball of mud.

"Thanks, Fred," she said dryly, wiping sludge out of her eyes.

He bowed gallantly. "My pleasure." While he was bowing, Hermione sneakily scooped up a handful of the disgusting greyish slop by the side of the pond.

"Fred," she said quietly. He looked up unsuspectingly, and promptly received a mouthful of Merlin-knows-what. Laughing, she stood, brushing the grass off her jeans. "Oh, poor, naïve Fred. You underestimate me at your peril." She sauntered off, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. As she strutted back to the house, Fred stared after her in disbelief.

First off, no one pranked the prankster.

And second, George had given him a job. And he was failing!

Time for drastic action.

He lunged at Hermione, knocking her to the ground, but making sure to cushion her head with his forearm. George would kill him if she got hurt – or concussed. Grabbing up a handful of mud, he smeared it all over her face before standing up with a triumphant grin.

Hermione lay on the ground, eyes wide with shock and anger and horror. But as the reality slowly dawned on her, her eyes narrowed to slits and she sat up slowly, rather like something out of a horror movie. The mud helped a bit with the latter, of course.

Fred's grin slid off his face like Hippogriff shit.

And what had started as an innocent little distraction turned into a free-for-all mud war. Free for all because Bill, Charlie and Percy all ended up joining in after getting hit by stray mudballs. Bill got clocked on the shoulder by Hermione's hand and Charlie was nailed straight in the groin by an excellently aimed shot from Fred. Percy, however, was hit by no less than _four_ splats of mud as he attempted to sidle past the mud fight unobtrusively.

As George and Ginny heard the shrieks and splats as they constructed a bench on the roof, they grinned at each other conspiratorially. Everything was going to plan so far – George had relied on both Hermione's instinctive hate of losing and the fact that he knew Fred would help him out no matter what when he'd formed his plan.

Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he gazed with a critical eye at the bench. "It needs something," he mused with narrowed eyes. Ginny gave him a questioning look. He circled the bench thoughtfully, trying to pinpoint what was irking him.

Waving his wand, he erected a twisting arch of black metal over the top, charming vines to snake around it. The bench attached itself with hinges to the top of the arch and George admired the newly-created swing. He cast a Concealment over the whole lot so that his mother wouldn't see, and he and Ginny climbed down from the roof, the latter looking quite stunned at George's artistic ability.

"Didn't know you had it in you, George," she said wonderingly. She thumped his back in congratulations and he groaned at the blow, stumbling forward a pace.

"I had to get stuck with a headstrong, bullying, pushy younger sister, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically. "I'd been looking forward to kicking the arse of any guy who touched you, but _no_, you had to grow up all tough."

"You and Fred are the people responsible for that," she reminded him. "I had so many pranks played on me that I toughened up."

George thought about it. "Fair point," he conceded after a few seconds. He stuffed his wand in his back pocket and headed into the kitchen, munching on a piece of pie as he watched what was going on in the back garden.

As Charlie scooped up a handful of mud, he didn't notice the brown globule heading straight for his arse. Fred's missile hit him with a _thwack_ and Charlie stumbled forward, almost face-planting in the mud. A few feet away, the exact same thing happened to Bill from Percy's side. Hermione was at the side, scooping up what looked like a monster mudball. She set it to the side as she finished with it, immediately putting together another one. George cocked his head to the side, wondering what her plan was.

Fred and Percy bent over the side of the pond, gathering up handfuls of sludge. George winced at the vulnerable position; they were bending over double, their arses in the air. And it seemed that Charlie and Bill had the same idea, as they crept up behind the duo with uncannily similar wicked expressions.

"Aim – and – _fire_," he heard Charlie call. Fred and Percy started to turn, but they were too late. Bill and Charlie took aim and a second later, with a few splats and yells, Fred and Percy tumbled headfirst into the lake.

With large grins, the two eldest Weasley sons high-fived and congratulated themselves before noticing that Fred and Percy were still struggling to stay afloat in the pond. They bent over the edge of the lake, careful not to get themselves wet – and then George noticed his girlfriend creeping closer with her handfuls of mud.

Laughing out loud as he figured out her plan, he and Ginny watched Hermione's master plan unfold before them. His pie lay forgotten on the counter. He was so engrossed in watching Hermione that he didn't even perceive Ginny edging a hand under his torso to extricate the pie.

Taking careful aim, Hermione drew back her right hand, taking aim at Bill's arse. It hit him head-on, sending him plunging into the pond. Within seconds, Charlie met the same fate, letting out a yell as he nosedived fantastically.

Hermione dusted off her hands smugly, watching the four boys thrash around in the water. Retreating to her favourite tree, she sat herself comfortably in its lowermost branch just as Harry and Ron appeared from the woods, brooms over their shoulders. Slowly, their eyes slid from Hermione to the pond, and back again. He almost heard a click as they made the connection, before a series of hysterical hyena laughs echoed in his direction. Frowning, he squinted at them. Yes, the laughter did indeed seem to be emanating from his youngest brother and his best friend, but –

"You – " Harry gasped, pausing to cackle for a while before continuing his sentence, "You just got outpranked by the Gryffindor Princess!" he gasped, clutching his side. Ron simply rolled around on the grass, rendered speechless by his laughter.

"Are you going to cackle all day or help us out?" Fred called desperately. Harry and Ron looked to their best friend. She shook her head with a toothy grin and his heart fluttered just seeing her smile.

"Sorry, mate," Harry said apologetically, still laughing as he helped Ron off the grass. "Hermione's hexes are a force to be reckoned with."

Laughing at the scene, George tore his eyes from the garden, fingers searching for his pie.

The countertop was empty. He whirled around, eyes narrowed in suspicion, to find Ginny with a bit of blueberry on her bottom lip. "Oops?" She offered with an ingratiating smile.

He snorted, cuffing her lightly on the head as he passed. It was time to corner Ron and activate the next part of Plan C.

"Ron, mate," he called as Ron ascended the stairs. The redhead turned around questioningly before descending a few steps.

"Yeah?" Ron asked, wiping sweat off his forehead. Ron had always been the sweatball of the family; he sweated even on brisk days like this. It probably didn't help that he'd been playing Quidditch.

"Heard that tonight's going to be a warm one. Fred said to ask if you fancied calling Luna over here for a midnight swim."

"What about you?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I have stuff to do for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," George lied smoothly, "and Hermione has some report to do for work."

"Well – yeah, sure. I'll check with Luna," Ron said uncertainly, his hand already drifting to his pocket, which George knew held the old DA Galleon that he used to communicate with his long-term girlfriend.

"She says she'll be here," Ron said after a moment of silence. "And she's staying two nights, her dad's gone to Prague in search of a Kippelby Spinker, whatever that is. So I guess she's rooming with Ginny and 'Mione?"

"Yeah. Check with mum, though," George said, trying to hide the elation in his voice. His plan had worked perfectly. Now all that was left was to set a Warming Charm on the pond at midnight.

"I will. Is that all?" Ron asked, his leg almost twitching to be away and in the shower.

"That's it," George confirmed. "Go shower, you stink." Ignoring Ron's glower, he spun on his heel and strode out the kitchen door with a most definite spring in his step.

Crossing to the tree where Hermione sat, he noticed with no small amount of amusement that his four brothers were still stuck in the pool. He had a strange, nagging suspicion that Hermione had something to do with their predicament – and sure enough, when he reached her, he found her surreptitiously twiddling her wand, concealing it under the branch.

"I am _such_ a good influence," he bragged as he came up beside her. She looked at him with mirth shining in her eyes and he felt his heart grow two sizes, like – what was that movie Hermione had shown him? – the Grinch! The Grinch who stole Christmas.

"And why, pray, are you a good influence?" she asked with a smile. He couldn't stop the monster grin from erupting all over his face. He never could restrain it, _especially_ when she was flirting.

"You're keeping my brothers in the lake. The old Hermione Wea-Granger could never do that," he said, stumbling slightly over her name. His insomnia had been so suffocating the past few nights that he'd taken to repeating 'Hermione Weasley' over and over until he fell asleep.

"Well…" she said thoughtfully. "Do you prefer the old Hermione Granger or the new one?"

His smile was predatory. "Oh, definitely the new one. The old one wouldn't rip her shirt off and dive into the pond, would she?"

A bright blush crept over her cheeks and she avoided his eyes until he trapped her face, letting her see the deep appreciation in his eyes. She cleared her throat and jerked her face out of his hands, almost losing her balance and falling off the branch, but George's strong hands ensnared her before she could fall.

And then she was _there_, so close that George couldn't help himself. He tugged her closer and slanted his lips over hers, feeling his heart grow another two sizes when she pressed herself nearer and moaned in the back of her throat. His capable hands gripped her waist as he kissed down her neck, and -

"Oi! Not in public!" Fred called. George turned to see him shaking the water off his body like a wet dog – evidently, Hermione had been so distracted that she'd dropped the spell.

Blushing even more, Hermione pulled away. George stroked her red cheeks, cooling them with his touch.

"You got us this time, Granger," Charlie began as he wrung out his shirt.

"But we'll get you better next time!" Fred and Bill warned. Hermione lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Isn't it usually only George and Fred who do the finishing-sentences act?" she asked them.

"Our bond is more considerable than you think, Ms Granger," Bill informed her loftily.

"Right, so you three _didn't_ spend all that time in the lake practicing that little scene?" she said sceptically.

"… no?" Charlie offered. She snorted.

"I do have ears, you know."

Three faces slumped into sulks. Percy simply wrung out his shirt and trudged off upstairs with his nose in the air. George shook his head. When the rest of his family was so fun-loving and carefree, how did Percy end up like _that_?

"Someone had to," Hermione said from his side. He looked at her questioningly. "I knew what you were thinking when you watched Percy go upstairs," she explained. "I know you well enough for that. And… I think the reason is that someone had to. There was an imbalance, you know? Someone serious was needed to balance out all the fun."

He nodded, accepting her explanation and watched his twin and two older brothers bang through the kitchen door. They left muddy footprints on the porch and he sincerely hoped that they'd remember to clean it up before mum came home, or they would all be in deep shit.

"It's getting late, want to head inside?" he asked her, suddenly noticing the dark sky. She nodded her acquiesce, slipping off the branch and into his arms. He kissed her softly, enjoying her scent and her rose-petal lips, before pulling her into the crook of his arm and setting off back to the house.

"Toilet," she told him before ascending the stairs. He motioned for her to go ahead and entered the living room, where he flopped down on a sofa. Not thirty seconds later, however, she reappeared, scowling. "Your brothers are all waiting in line for the bathroom," she informed him, seating herself beside him.

"Who's in there?"

"Percy, I think," she said.

"Oh Merlin," George groaned. "Percy takes the longest. He sings in the shower, stands under the spray for ten minutes at a time, soaps himself three times over…"

"How the hell do you know?" Hermione asked teasingly.

George rolled his eyes. "So we spied on him once. His bits were covered by the shower handle, don't worry."

"Why on _earth_ would you spy on your brother in the shower?" she said incredulously.

"I gave you a reason as to why you won't get inside the look for the next two hours," George said sternly. "Show some gratitude."

"Surely Percy won't take two hours?" she asked, horrified.

"No, but there's still the rest of them," he reminded her. She sagged back into the cushions, casting a charm on herself.

"What did you do?"

"Cast a charm to prevent my bladder from exploding," she said absently, her wand still tracing patterns in the air. A plate of food appeared before her with two forks in it. They eagerly dug into the food.

_Now_, George thought as he spooned up some peas, _All I have to do is wait.

* * *

_

One in the morning arrived soon enough and Luna in tow. She, Ron, Fred and Charlie dressed in their swimsuits and could soon be heard splashing around in the pond. George had cast the warming charm earlier that night and the splashes soon quieted to the occasional splash and quiet conversation.

Hermione fell asleep on his shoulder, and he let her. He himself was too ramped up with nerves to fall asleep, but he wanted her to be awake for the sunrise.

At four am, right on cue, Ginny appeared from her room and her voice could be heard telling the swimmers of a pool in the woods. Muttered warming charms came from all around and the sound of their voices faded away.

It was time.

He stroked Hermione's cheek gently, whispering, "Wake up, love." She stirred, a curl falling into her eyes. He brushed it away and pulled her to her feet, cradling her in his arms.

"What – what's the time?" she asked blearily.

"Four in the morning," he answered softly. She came to a halt, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"What – why?"

"There's something I want to show you," he explained, tugging her along behind him. He cast a joint Levitating charm on himself and Hermione and raised them up to his bench. He removed the Concealment charm and revelled in Hermione's gasp of delight.

"George! Did you make this?" she breathed, agape.

"Myself and Ginny, yes," he said, seating her on it and plopping down beside her with a flourish.

"It's lovely," she said admiringly, shielding her eyes as the first rays of the sun shot over the horizon. "Oh," she breathed, taking in the sight with wide eyes. She curled up at his side, pressing kisses to his cheek and neck.

"Hermione," he said abruptly as he heard familiar voices drawing closer. She looked at him askance and he winced, softening his tone.

"Hermione, I've tried to do this twice already, and I'm hoping that the third time's the charm." He got down on one knee, his heart thumping wildly. "Hermione Granger, I promise to love you for every day of my life. Will you –"

With a hideous crashing and roaring, a fantastic explosion shook the house below him, accompanied by the yells of Fred. George and Hermione were flung off the roof by the blast but he cast a Cushioning charm in time and they landed softly. Hermione ran into the house immediately to assess the damage and George remained outside, tears welling in his eyes from the strength of his frustration. He yelled, a scream of frustration and anger, but only one person heard.

Ginny appeared in the Burrow's doorway, a concerned expression etched on her face.

"What. The. Fu –"

She cut him off, running down the steps. "I tried to stop him, I really did!" she cried anxiously, pleading. "Luna started to feel cold and Ron went into protective mode and it was no fun without them – and then I saw the fireworks and I tried to stop Bill and Charlie, but they were taking revenge for the prank last week and – " she rambled on until George clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Ginny, stop." He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, mussing it up thoroughly. He could hear Hermione's incantations and Bill and Charlie's sheepish apologies through the open window, and even caught Fleur's silvery, sleepy voice asking what was going on.

"I'll – I'll plan again," he said thickly through the lump in his throat. She patted his shoulder, squeezing his hand once before ambling back to the house.

Sighing, he stared up at the window. Would he ever get a chance to propose without any interruptions? Through the glass, he caught the end of a bushy brown ringlet, and he resolved to himself that by the time Hermione's birthday rolled around, he absolutely _would_ secure her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Aaaaand here's chapter four! My longest one yet (in this story). This was originally meant to be two separate chapters but I didn't want you guys to get sick of waiting. And you better appreciate my efforts, because I risked my father's wrath (bad) and my mother's incessant nagging (worse) for this. Enjoy. Appreciate. R&R. xoxo**

**Disclaimer: My writing doesn't hold a candle to that of JKR, and I doubt she'd publish this anyway. So yeah, I don't claim any credit for the characters, settings and general plotlines of this story.**

* * *

The day was Friday.

"You're fucking kidding me."

George Weasley groaned and his face dropped tiredly into his hands. Today was Friday, and Hermione's birthday was on Sunday. He was fast running out of inventive ways to propose and he was exhausted.

Peering blearily through his fingers, he took in the room.

Clothes were strewn across the floor of the room, remnants of his temper tantrum minutes before. The walls were painted a light blue and there was a matching shag carpet, although there were currently several pairs of George's boxers covering it. A four-poster bed, like a larger model of those in the Hogwarts dorms dominated the room, complete with midnight blue curtains. Light shone cheerily through the window, although if George could have tossed a pillow at it and its cheerfulness too, he would have done so.

He considered his options.

One, go to sleep.

Two… he had to admit, he really had nothing else. What else could he do at this point? He was dead tired from staying up fretting for most of the previous night. Even if he went downstairs and tried to propose – again – he probably wouldn't be able to get the words out without yawning.

He flicked his wand at the mess on the floor and all the assorted pants, shirts, boxers and socks flew back to their places in the drawers and cupboards, except for one purple sock that stubbornly remained on the floor. Sighing, he jabbed at it from where he stood. It twitched a bit but refused to move from the carpet. With a grunt, he gave it up as a bad job and fell backwards onto the mattress with a sigh of relief. Laying his wand on the bedside table, he drew the curtains shut and fell into darkness.

* * *

"I don't understand, Gin," Hermione whined. It was an uncharacteristic tone of voice for her and Ginny felt disconcerted hearing it.

"Don't understand what?" she asked, moving to put a hand on her best friend's shoulder.

"Why George won't propose. Goodness knows I've given him enough hints – and I'm sure he's tried to propose a few times, but somehow something always cuts him off. And I'm starting to wonder… I feel guilty for even thinking of it…" she trailed off, looking torn.

"Wondering what?" Ginny said coaxingly.

"I'm wondering if – that – maybe – "

"George is trying to _avoid_ proposing?" Ginny suggested shrewdly. Hermione shuffled her feet and looked down. Ginny sighed, flicking her wand at the door. The sign flipped to "closed" and she strode around the corner, gripping Hermione by the shoulders.

"It's not what you think, 'Mione," she said earnestly. "I know you think he's avoiding proposing, but I promise you, he's not that dishonest. If he truly did not want to propose, he would have broken up with you by now."

"Then what is he _doing_?" Hermione cried.

"He's just – " Ginny flailed wildly around in her head for an excuse. "He's just – just – he's, erm, nothing. Just know that he's not running away from marrying you."

Hermione was bewildered, but accepted it reluctantly, figuring that it was the best explanation she was going to get.

She returned to working the counter – she worked part-time at WWW and Ginny had a free day -, ringing up stock and recording it in the inventory. Ginny automatically flipped the sign to "open" again and there was an immediate inflow of customers. Through the aisles, Hermione even managed to spot some of her school friends.

"Lavender," she greeted as the once-perky, now somewhat subdued blonde came to the counter with her purchase.

"Hi, Hermione," she said in greeting. Relieved to see that Lavender had stopped speaking in perpetual exclamation marks, she scanned the box of Daydream Charms with her wand, raising her eyebrows.

"Three Sickles and a Knut, please?" Hermione requested. As Lavender handed over the money, she read Hermione's expression carefully and grimaced at the look in her eyes.

"I just – Cormac, he's not around a lot of the time and – "

Hermione put a hand on Lavender's, gently. "You don't need to explain yourself, Lavender. This way is better than any other." She turned slightly and smiled at the toddler in Lavender's arms. With dark blonde hair, blue eyes and a mouth full of perfect teeth, Hermione could tell he was going to grow up to be a looker.

"This is Cameron, right?" Hermione asked, wiggling her fingers at the three-year-old. He laughed, grabbing onto one of them and holding tight. Snatching a candy up off the counter – a regular, non-dangerous one – she put it in his hand, blowing him a kiss as she did so.

"It was nice running into you, Hermione," Lavender said, a smile touching her strained features.

As she walked away, Hermione marvelled at the extent to which a person could change after school. She had seen Parvati the other day, too. She was now a top journalist for Witch Weekly and Hermione had hastened to steer clear. The last thing she needed was _more_ publicity.

"Was that Lavender Brown I just saw?" exclaimed Ginny from the back room.

"Yeah," Hermione called back as she rang up another customer's purchase.

"And her son… Cameron, isn't it? How is he?"

"Hale and hearty, from what I could tell."

"And Cormac?" Ginny asked. Hermione kept silent this time. It wasn't her place to shout out Lavender's relationship problems to the store. She busied herself with the next customer and her thoughts returned to George. She sighed softly to herself and picked up the next item, a box of Puking Pastilles. A fond memory returned in the form of fifth year and 'Umbridgeitis', and her smile was extra large when she handed it to the eleven-year-old at the counter. _How silly I am,_ she chided herself. _George is an honest man. If he didn't plan on proposing eventually, he would have dumped you before now._

She returned to ringing up items, lost in the past.

* * *

George's waking dream was not pretty.

"_Oh, please, George," Hermione sneered, hooking a lazy arm around Ronald's waist. "I had no intention of marrying you. It was just a fling!"_

"_How does three years count as a fling?" he protested, but it was barely audible over Ron's sadistic laughter._

"_Who'd want to marry you? You work a joke shop, you can never be serious, you couldn't propose properly if you tried!" Ron shouted. George flinched back; his words were like icy shards of glass biting into his skin._

"_Hermione?" George entreated. Quietly, pleadingly. She shook her head at him sadly and walked away, her hips knocking into Ron's with every step they took. The road in front of them blurred to whiteness and they became shrouded in it, leaving George calling out Hermione's name._

"_Hermione – HERMIONE – NO!"_

With a loud bang and several curses, George toppled out of bed. Still disoriented, he peered around him, at the tangled mess of blue curtains around his feet.

Footsteps could be heard crashing up the stairs, but he couldn't move, still locked in the frigid grip of his nightmare. _Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, _he repeated to himself. Hermione burst through the door, hair frazzled in anxiety. She dropped to her knees beside him and cupped his face in her hands, her fingers anxiously stroking his cheeks.

"George? What happened?" she cried in shock.

His head had cleared a bit and his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. "Just – just a nightmare," he stammered past the awful images in his mind. His eyes captivated by her full, rosy lips, he didn't hear her next question until she prodded him in the ribs. When he looked at her questioningly, she repeated her question.

"What was it about?"

"I – nothing. It was just – silly dream…" he trailed off as the temptation became too much and swooped forward, effectively sealing her next words inside her mouth with a sweet kiss.

Her lips were warm, soft, and the corners tweaked up in a smile against his lips. His were rougher, slightly chapped. He opened his mouth slightly, testing, and when she showed no resistance, slid his tongue into her mouth. She moaned into the kiss, her hands fisted in George's flaming hair. He kissed her again and again, only pulling back when he couldn't take the lack of oxygen any longer, and only then to kiss her again.

When she finally pulled back, panting, lips swollen and her hair even more mussed up, it was with a sigh of regret. "We need to get this tidied up," she said ruefully, motioning at the mess of broken curtains. She stood up and flicked her wand at the mess, her nonverbal _Scourgify_ decidedly more powerful than George's had been. The errant purple sock on the floor even folded itself and flew back into the drawer. He watched it grumpily. Stupid, stubborn sock.

"It's been a while since you've had a nightmare like that," Hermione observed quietly. "We've all had our share of nightmares about the war but most of us can sleep soundly through the night now. Am I right in assuming your falling out of bed was not war-related?"

He nodded, trying to push the nightmare out of his head. "It's not important. Never mind." He regretted his curt reply, but he did not want to think about Hermione wrapped around Ron. She drew back, looking concerned.

"Okay," she said softly, smoothing his hair. "You don't need to tell me." His face softened at her touch and he stood up slowly, swaying as he regained his balance.

"Everything's okay with the shop? No mishaps?"

"None," she confirmed. "Ginny had work, so I've taken a late lunch and closed the shop for the rest of the day."

"Ginny had work?" George said incredulously.

"Well, no, but I let her feed me the lie to make her feel better." While George shuddered at the thought of what Harry was doing with his sister, Hermione ambled away into the kitchen to make tea. He heard cups clanging and the kettle being filled and he pulled on a t-shirt, straightening his hair.

He had just slipped a ring onto his index finger when a series of girlish shrieks sounded from the kitchen. Snatching up his wand from the bedside table, he dashed into the kitchen to find two squealing women hugging each other and jumping around. He sagged against the doorframe, his wand hanging loosely at his side as he watched his girlfriend exclaim over Angelina Johnson's shoes and hair.

"Oh, I liked the braids," she said sadly, holding up a shiny, wavy lock.

"I'm just trying this style out. I can get them back in a second, Hermione," Angelina reassured her, flicking her wand at her hair. It immediately braided itself and with a second flick, was restored to its shiny self.

"Neat spell," Hermione said admiringly.

"Yes, this little old woman in Papua taught it to me. It came in _very_ handy when I needed to attend some fancy function with Damien."

"How is he?"

"Damien? I couldn't care less. I dumped him, he was a sad loser."

Hermione gasped in surprise. George's smile turned tender; it wasn't often she indulged in gossiping and exclaiming over fashion. "How long ago was this – and why didn't you tell me!"

"About… six months ago?" Angelina confessed, guiltily. "I-was-in-Papua-and-sending-messages-is-difficult-and-expensive-and-they-use-giant-Papuan-native-birds-not-owls," she blurted out in a single breath, eyeing Hermione's wand apprehensively.

"Oh- well," Hermione said, deflating slightly. "Got your eye on someone?"

George thought Angelina was blushing, although it was a bit hard to tell under her dark skin. She avoided Hermione's gaze and her dark eyes instead lighted on George.

"George! How are you?" she cried with a tad more enthusiasm than necessary. He saw Hermione give an amused shake of the head and shot Angelina a wry smile.

"Still as subtle as ever, Angelina?" he asked teasingly.

"You're supposed to be helping me, fool," she snapped , brandishing her wand. He simply laughed at her, moving to wrap an arm around Hermione's waist.

"Sorry, Angie, but I am forced out of fear to side with my fian-girlfriend," he said, the smooth words marred at the end by his stutter. Intuition flashed in Angelina's eyes.

"Out of fear, eh?" Hermione asked, spinning to face him with arched brow.

"Out of adoration too, my love," George said sweetly in an attempt to pacify her. Hermione, taking pity, threw him a bone. She patted him on the cheek and turned back to the kettle, pouring the liquid out into three cups and adding milk and sugar. She handed George and Angelina a mug each and took one herself, leaning back against the counter. Blowing the hot liquid a bit, she took a tiny sip just as Fred Apparated in.

"Angie!" he cried in surprise, almost dropping the big box of goodness-knows-what in his excitement. "I didn't know you were coming back today!"

"Surprise!" she called belatedly. He scooped her up in a hug and both Hermione and George watched as Angelina's skin flushed a shade darker.

"I think I know _exactly _who she's got her eye on," George whispered. She nodded with a chuckle and they slunk out of the room and into the adjoining one, giving the duo some privacy. She finished her tea and set the cup on the coffee table.

Taking a pinch of glittering powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, Hermione tossed it into the flames and stepped in, calling out, "The Burrow!" Spinning around, she disappeared into the Floo Network, George right behind her.

"Right, why are we here?" George asked as he stepped out and shook some ash onto the mat.

"For some food," Hermione told him, cutting herself a piece of cake. "George, I thought your mother put an Anti-Apparition Charm on the house?"

"Yeah, she did," George confirmed.

"Why didn't she block the Floo? We can Floo to the flat and back."

"It's only to the flat," he told her. "Try Flooing anywhere else and you won't be able to move."

She nodded and started picking her cake apart, eating it little piece by piece. George let her eat in silence until an idea occurred to him.

As she was nearing the end of her slice, his hand darted out to snatch a piece. She glared at him but allowed it, merely breaking off the next piece. His hand flashed again, this time stealing a sizeable chunk of the remaining cake. There now remained only a very tiny piece – just enough for one person.

"_George_," Hermione whinged. "Stop." Her fingers reached out for the cake and George steeled himself. He was risking castration, but it was for Hermione…

His hand darted out a third time and he snatched the cake up, swallowing the tiny morsel without chewing.

A deathly silence filled the kitchen.

George looked up, eyes wide, an entreaty already forming on his lips. "I'll make it up to you!" he blurted out despereately.

"_How_?" she demanded. His fingers slid inside his pocket and grasped the little box and his heartbeat thumped faster and faster.

"Hermione, I sincerely apologise for nicking your cake. And to make it up to you, I have a request. Will you – "

And right on cue, Ginny and Harry burst through the door, entwined in a tight lip-lock. George and Hermione were, for a moment, too stunned to alert the couple as to their presence, but they were silent for different reasons.

Hermione really _did_ know what George had planned – he rarely did something as risky as stealing cake without good reason, and she was disappointed that it had fallen through, as it seemed to have done the past few days too.

George was simply locked in incredulous despair. _Of all times for a snog in the kitchen, Ginny, why now? And Harry, I had faith in you…_

Someone cleared their throat loudly and the couple jumped apart, almost hitting opposite walls. As soon as she took in the scene in front of her, Ginny's expression dropped into one of bottomless horror and apology. _Yeah, that's right,_ George snarled inside his head.

Without seeing what Hermione was doing, he strode out of the kitchen and spun on his heel to Apparate away. Instead, he landed on his arse on the grass. He'd forgotten the Anti-Apparition charms. Cursing, he stood and ran to the tree, climbing up into its limbs until the branches started to grow dangerously thin. And there he sat until the first tendrils of evening snaked over the horizon, until Hermione came out to the base of the tree and called him down. At the end of the day, everything he did, he did for her.

* * *

The day was Saturday.

George ambled into the flat's kitchen in nothing but pyjama bottoms and slippers, and almost dropped his empty teacup.

"Ginny?" he choked in shock. "Merlin, don't scare me like that." He sat himself at a chair and motioned for Ginny to do the same, but she remained standing, an ashamed look on her face.

"Gin?" he said tentatively. Fred, also half-naked and slippered, crept in behind Ginny and poured himself a cup of coffee. George's nose wrinkled involuntarily. Vile drink. Hermione had tried to convert him, to no avail.

"I'm sorry I wrecked your fourth proposal," she mumbled, hiding her face behind a curtain of red hair. "I know things on the proposal front haven't been going well and I –"

"Ginny," he sighed. "Leave it. I forgive you. It doesn't matter. Between today and tomorrow, I will get that ring on Hermione's finger." Her face brightened almost immediately and she bounced to the seat George had offered earlier.

"You'll find a way. It doesn't have to be elaborate and well-planned. Just get it on her finger before the inevitable chaos of a Weasley-organised birthday party-slash-homecoming celebration."

"Right. I'd forgotten about Percy and Audrey's homecoming. I'll get it done," he promised her, standing and stretching.

"I'll see you later, then," she called with a smile and a wave as green flames engulfed her.

Creeping into his and Hermione's room, he pulled back the curtain and peeked through. She was still sleeping, her curls golden in the sunlight that seeped through the curtains. She was like an angel, George thought to himself.

"Wake up, love," he said gently, touching her hand with the lightest of pressure. Even though she herself had requested the wake-up call, he really did not want to wake her when she looked so peaceful. She stirred slightly before falling silent again.

"Hermione," he tried again, this time a tad louder. "Wake up."

"George?" she asked sleepily. "What's the time?"

"Eight-thirty," he replied. "You asked me to wake you."

"Right. Yes. I did," she said absently, rolling over and closing her eyes again. He shook her shoulder.

"Hermione! Wake up!"

With a muttered curse, she threw back the covers and sat upright, her hair atrocious in its haystack glory. From years of living with her, he knew it would settle down after a few quick strokes of a brush but he always enjoyed seeing her just-got-out-of-bed hair.

"You asked me to wake you up," he reminded her nervously as her fingers groped for her wand.

"Yes, yes. I just need my wand to – " she shot a spell at her hair and it straightened out. "Too lazy to brush it right now," she explained.

"Oh, that's all," he said with relief. She grinned sleepily at him and swung her legs out of bed, stumbling a little as she crossed the room to the adjoining bathroom.

"Listen, love," he called over the sounds of running water and tooth brushing. "I was thinking of a trip to Hogsmeade today."

"What about the shop?" Hermione called back.

"Fred's taking care of it was Angelina."

Hermione stuck her head out of the door, eyes wide and foam smothered around her lips. "Do you fink deyll actlay magage de sop?" she mumbled.

"Blub blub blub," George mimicked. Rolling her eyes, she ducked around the doorframe and rinsed out her mouth before repeating the question.

"Do you think they'll actually manage the shop?"

"Doubt it, but they'll be forced to. Saturday is a busy day."

"Should we really be leaving, then?" The shower started running then and a towel was tossed to the floor.

"Fred hasn't asked me to go or to stay, but I know he wants some time with Angelina. He's always had a bit of a soft spot for her."

"Let's go, then!" she exclaimed. The water ran for five more minutes before it cut off and she emerged, a towel wrapped around her. George had her clothes ready and tossed them at her one by one, as per their normal routine. After pulling on the last item, a warm, long-sleeved shirt, she hung up her towel and took up her purse from the vanity.

"Wait!" she exclaimed as George gripped her arm and made to spin. "How will we get out? Molly's blocked our Floo and cast Anti-Apparition charms!"

"You see, my love," George began, "at the Burrow, miles away from all civilization, Muggles and other magical people rarely venture near. Thus, an Anti-Apparition charm can be cast over the whole street, and since the street is very long, it's tedious to walk to a point where one can Apparate.

"Here, however," he said smugly, pulling open the door with a flourish, "my mother can't. We will simply walk down to the Leaky Cauldron and Floo to the Three Broomsticks."

"Ingenious, George!" Hermione said warmly as he pulled the door closed. It locked automatically behind them and they strolled out of the shop with a wave and a wink to Fred and Angelina.

The day, although quite chilly, was bright and clear and George and Hermione spent the majority of their time in Hogsmeade wandering here and there in the hills that surrounded the village, only stopping to Apparate to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. After warming up a bit with some Butterbeer, the two of them set off in opposite directions – Hermione to the bookshop and George to the florist, where he bought a bouquet of bluebells with a single red rose in the centre. Enchanting his purchase with a Never-Wilting charm and with the help of Shrinking and Shape Retaining spells, he tucked the gift into his breast pocket and met with Hermione, where he Apparated the two of them back to Diagon Alley.

Fred and Angelina were nowhere to be found and the shop was deserted. George tapped the closed sign with his finger and chuckled. "Best not to risk going into the flat right now, I think," he warmed Hermione as she made to ascend the stairs. She blushed and back away, seating herself on the counter.

George took a breath. Then another. _Please, Merlin, Morgana, any other deities. Help me. _He knelt in front of her, his fingers slipping into his pocket for the box.

"Hermione Granger, I promise to love you for as long as I live. Will you – EURGH!"

"Oh, bloody Merlin, what on earth is that _smell_?" Hermione choked, a hand over her mouth in disgust.

It was like raw meat and rotting bananas and the stench of a urinal that had not been cleaned for a decade all mixed together. It was that and more, a smell to rival anything in the depths of hell. Coughing and spluttering, George pulled Hermione through the greenish fug to the door where they stood choking and inhaling for the next ten minutes.

"I – know a spell to get rid of it," Hermione gasped, drawing her wand.

"What is it?" George asked her, crouching against the wall.

"I have no clue, but I'm guessing it has something to do with _her_," Hermione said grimly, indicating a very familiar blonde.

"_Luna_," George groaned. "Go and sort it out then. But love," he added, catching her by the ankle, "be careful. Don't die in the fumes."

She nodded determinedly and squared her shoulders, yanking the door of the shop open and charging in. After a few moments of coughing and frenzied spell-casting, she emerged, casting numerous Scourgifies upon her person.

"Well?" George asked, rising from his crouch.

"Luna's _fumigating_," Hermione said sweetly, with an equally sweet smile to match. He wondered at her tone but didn't have to be curious for long – Luna emerged through the doorway, a mask over her face.

"Hello, Luna," George greeted as pleasantly as he could through gritted teeth. "What, pray, were you doing in the shop?"

"Oh, last time I was in here I noticed a lot of Wrackspurts," she said airily, waving a dreamy hand in the air. "I thought I should fumigate."

"Right, well – Luna," George started after a look from Hermione told him he needed to handle this one. "I really appreciate the gesture – and I'm sure Fred will, too – but next time you want to fumigate, try asking our permission first so that we could be better prepared? Hermione and I weren't ready for the stench."

"Oh, yes, I'll do that next time. Most people don't appreciate my efforts, you know," she said a bit sadly, twirling her fumigation nozzle. George watched it distastefully. "It was very sweet that you saw fit to thank me. Well, I'll be returning to the Burrow, then – Ron's waiting." With a skip and a hop, she twirled in midair and Vanished with a crack, leaving a stunned George and Hermione behind.

"If Ron ever marries her," George began hoarsely, "I hope he keeps her locked up in a padded cell."


	5. The Promise of Happiness

**The final chapter!  
Okay first off, I apologise for the delay in getting this one out. I also apologise if it's not up-to-standard, because I went through I slight writer's block which I did my best to get over. Let me know what you think! And I really hope you like how I ended it. Also, I know I haven't named chapters before, but this is a special chapter. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I would type out the whole thing but I'm going to get carpal tunnel from the typing I've done today. **

* * *

**For The Love Of Merlin Chapter 5: The Promise of Happiness**

On the morning of Hermione Granger's twenty-second birthday, the Weasley house was abuzz with a very familiar party fever. Sounds of clanging, cursing and hurried footsteps could be heard in the kitchen as Mrs Weasley cooked up enough food to keep an army sated in the Sahara Desert, helped out by Ron and Percy.

George, Fred and Charlie were outside, setting up streamers and balloons and long tables. Bill had gone to Shell Cottage late the previous night along with Fleur to relieve their babysitter of her duty and they would be returning with Victoire later in the day.

Ginny had been instructed to keep Hermione occupied, whether by distracting her or putting her under a Sleep charm. The two girls were presently upstairs, doing who knows what.

George, while enchanting the legs of a table to reattach themselves (evidence of their latest table-fight) was trying desperately to form a plan. Addled by sleep-deprivation and completely out of time, he needed an idea – fast.

"George, mate!" his twin called from the middle of the lawn. "Head out of the clouds! We need all hands on deck." So saying, he conjured up a cornflower blue balloon and streamers to match. Yanking out his wand, George sleepily did the same, groaning as he then Vanished the resulting pile of mashed up rubber and crepe paper. Focusing his mind, he cast the spell again, this time speaking the incantation aloud, producing some passable decorations.

"Mate, you're about to pass out. You want to head back in for a kip?" Charlie asked him as he sunk back against a wall, his eyes drooping closed.

"It's my girl –" the rest of his sentence was cut off by a monstrous yawn and he resumed speaking only after the others had gotten a good look at his tonsils. "It's my girlfriend's birthday party, I can't _not_ help out. It feels wrong."

"If you're sure…" Charlie said doubtfully. He ambled away to fix up another bunch of streamers and George sagged back.

"What happened to George?" a new voice asked. He cracked one eye open to find Bill, looking fresh and happy with Victoire in his arms.

"I don't think he got enough sleep last night," Fred answered for him. George was too tired even to nod. _Understatement_, he thought to himself sleepily. After the disastrous _fifth_ attempt at a proposal, George had waited until Hermione had gone to sleep and set to depleting his liquor cabinet. After two bottles of Firewhiskey, he was well and truly trashed, yet infuriatingly unable to sleep. He had tossed and turned in bed and when morning came, he was hungover despite not sleeping and had a terrible taste in his mouth.

"George," someone muttered, nudging him in the side. He turned drooping eyelids to Bill, who was standing at his side. "I have a vial of Caffeine Potion. But don't take it in excess, or you'll end up going nuts. A sip or two ought to do."

"Thanks, mate," George mumbled gratefully, taking a vial of yellow potion. He uncorked it and lifted it to his lips, taking a tiny sip.

And then Fred bumped into Charlie, who bumped into Bill, who bumped into George, making him spill the full contents of the vial of potion down his throat.

"Oh, dear," Bill muttered, jumping away and fixing George with a wary eye as an insanely happy smile stole across his face.

* * *

"Ginny," Hermione said sternly as the younger girl attempted to fix Hermione's hair yet again. "Can you leave it? It was fine before."

"No, you didn't see the back. Sticking out all over the place."

"Gin," Hermione sighed. "I know you're stuck with the task of keeping me inside while they set up out there. And I promise, I'll stay inside and not peep if you just _do my hair and leave it_."

"Fine, Hermione," Ginny griped. "You're one of a kind, you know? Most girls _like_ having their hair played with."

"I'm not most girls," Hermione reminded her.

"True. How do you want your hair, then?"

And after much bickering and compromising and with the aid of countless spells, Hermione's hair was fixed in a twist. The hair spilled over the top of the clip that held it in place, giving the impression of a waterfall of chestnut curls. Pleased with it, Hermione smiled at herself in the mirror and spun to give Ginny a hug.

"I have a good feeling about today," Hermione told her best friend.

"Of course you do. _Everyone _has a good feeling on their birthday," Ginny replied with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

"No, this is different," Hermione insisted. "I feel like today… something's going to happen. Something that will make me very happy." Her smiled widened, broadening into a toothy grin.

Ginny's lips curved up too as she thought of George and his plans.

Well, she _hoped_ he had a plan. Last she had seen him, he had looked like the living dead but Bill had said he had something to perk George up a bit. Caffeine potion or something.

"Maybe it's a _sign_," Ginny whispered mysteriously with an attempt at Professor Trelawney's dreamy air. Hermione laughed. "No, but really," Ginny continued, "maybe something will happen."

"I'm not generally one for signs and omens. But I can't help hoping…" she trailed off, looking down at her hands, which were folded in her lap.

"That George will propose?" Ginny finished shrewdly.

"I've been hoping for it for so long. But somehow, something seems to interrupt us every time I think he's getting close to proposing."

"I've noticed that, too," Ginny said thoughtfully. "But if you've got a good feeling about today, maybe he'll have better luck."

"I hope so, Ginny," Hermione said, a trace of sadness in her voice.

"I hope so too, Hermione," Ginny said, a smile touching her lips as she fingered the little circle of metal in her pocket. She had a surprise too.

* * *

"Freddie!" George cried, a gleeful smile upon his face. His twin backed away warily. "Why's Freddie running away?" George asked tearfully of Bill, who shot an alarmed expression at Fred.

"Erm – no, George, I'm right here," Fred hastily tried to amend.

"Freddie!" George cried joyfully, leaping into Fred's arms. Awkwardly patting his twin on the back, Fred extracted his wand from his back pocket and shot a spell at Bill, one that brought back fond memories of Hogwarts.

"_Pusillimi Videre_," Fred muttered. A jet of blue light shot straight to his brother's head and he knew it had worked. "_Bill!_" he shouted in his mind. "_What's wrong with him_?"

"_The caffeine potion, taken in excess, heightens the emotions. George is feeling heightened happiness, sadness and – Merlin forbid – anger. And a little memory loss. Best not to provoke him, I think."_

"_How long will it last?"_

"_No way to tell,"_ Bill replied. Fred's heart sank.

"_So… it could be days?"_ he asked desperately.

"_Sadly, yes. There are way, though, to shock him out of it. Some physical or psychological shock should probably do it."_

Fred ended the spell as an idea occurred to him. "Oooh, look, George!" Fred exclaimed. "I have something to show you!" Excitedly, George's head whipped around to where Fred was pointing.

"This way, George," Fred said coaxingly, leading him towards the pond. "It's right here. I found it the other day. Bend over – right there – and you'll see it."

It was an incredibly vulnerable position, bent over with his arse in the air, and it was exactly how Fred had planned it. With one good kick to the backside, George went crashing into the pond and came up with water erupting from his nostrils. Spluttering, he made his way to the shore.

"You!" he cried accusingly, pointing a dripping finger at Fred, who backed away nervously. "You – I thought we were brothers! How could you do that to me?"

"I – it was meant to help?" Fred offered meekly.

"I have no choice but to renounce you as my twin," George announced solemnly. "As for your replacement, I choose… that guy," he said, pointing to Charlie. "Parley, or whatever his name is." Bill let out an involuntary snigger at this and received a thwack on the head from his brawny younger brother.

"And you, Cheque," George continued, pointing at Bill. Charlie snickered, much as Bill had done earlier, and received a similar whack on the head. "Fetch me a towel, please."

Shaking his head, Bill hurried inside to carry out his younger brother's orders, hoping that Charlie would keep George out of trouble while he hunted for a towel.

"Parley, we need to play a prank on Freddie," George said in a stage whisper. Fred opened his mouth, ready to say something sarcastic, but Charlie shot him a warning look.

"Of course. He deserves it," Charlie said smoothly.

"I say we trick him into falling into the pond just like he did to me!"

"That's a great idea," Charlie said unenthusiastically. Never very patient when it came to other humans, his endurance was wearing out already. With dragons, it was a different matter, but when it came to human idiocy he had zero tolerance.

"Hey, Fred!" George shouted in an unnecessarily loud voice. Bill, head in a second-floor closet, winced. Fred rolled his eyes but complied.

"What, George?"

"I have something to show you. I realise that you pushing me in the pond was accidental and I would like to show you something in the same spot you showed me."

"Right over here?" Fred asked, striding over to the same spot George had been in earlier. He sighed, knowing what he had to do. Charlie shot him a sympathetic look.

"Look, it's down in the mud!" George exclaimed. Fred obediently bent at the waist and got kicked into the pond.

Resignedly, he pulled his dripping body out of the water and shook the water off himself.

"Hey Parley, do I have a girlfriend?" George asked Charlie abruptly.

"Erm," said Charlie. If he said yes, George would likely go charging up to Hermione's room and ruin her birthday. If he said no, George might set out to find a girl. Luckily for him, Bill saved his skin.

"You do, but she'll be coming later," Bill said, tossing a towel at George. He raised an eyebrow at a dripping Fred, who slouched grumpily to the house to fetch his own towel.

"What? Why?" George cried.

"She's busy right now, she's coming in a while. Don't worry," Bill attempted to soothe.

"WHERE IS SHE? I WANT TO MEET HER!" George exclaimed, his voice almost a shout. A curtain on the fifth floor twitched.

"George, calm down. You'll meet her soon!" Bill said loudly over George's repeated cries of 'I want to meet her! I want to meet her!'.

"You don't understand, Cheque! I don't remember her! How can I not remember her? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?" George roared. The curtain in Ginny's window was yanked back and two heads of hair (one red and one brown) stared down at the chaos below.

"I-WANT-TO-MEET-HER!" George bellowed, his volume increasing with each word.

"George –" Charlie tried to interrupt.

"I WANT! I WANT!"

"Mate – " Fred began.

"WHERE IS SHE? I WANT!"

"George!" shouted Bill.

"PARLEY!" George yelled. "Help me find her! I WANT TO –"

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" a new voice shrieked. Red hair flaming and almost emitting sparks in her agitation, Mrs Weasley stood on the porch, spatula in hand. Ron could be seen in the kitchen, rushing to take care of the pots and pans his mother had abandoned.

George paused in his ranting. "Is that our mum?" he asked of Charlie.

"Erm – yeah," Charlie said awkwardly, trying to convey with his eyes that he would explain later.

"Where's my girlfriend, Mum?" George asked her.

Bill shook his head frantically behind George's back and her eyes darted to him. "Erm – she's not here right now, dear," she said shakily. Charlie, Bill and Fred (who had returned in a dry set of clothes) watched with growing apprehension as George prepared himself for another rant.

"I WANT! I WANT! I WA – "

"George!" Hermione's voice suddenly interrupted. He stopped in the middle of his yelling and some sort of recognition flashed in his eyes.

"Hey!" he said suddenly. "You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her wand hand twitched. Fred shot her a pleading look. Bewildered, she shot a spell at him.

"_Pusillimi Videre. Fred. What's going on?"_

"_He – erm – accidentally ingested too much of a Caffeine potion," _Fred replied shiftily. _"Er – I think Fleur may not have brewed it correctly because he's acting very childish rather than very perky."_

"_WHAT?" _Hermione shrieked in her mind. Fred winced. _"How did this happen?"_

Fred Weasley shuffled his feet and beamed an ingratiating smile at Hermione, who merely fixed him with a suspicious look. "_I, uh, may have fallen into Charlie and caused a domino action," _he admitted guiltily. Hermione's wand hand twitched more obviously and Fred shrank back.

Hermione ended the spell and turned to face her boyfriend, who was rapidly turning purple and spinning to face his brothers.

"You lied! You told me she wasn't in the house!" he accused, pointing a shaking finger at Bill.

"George, mate, she just arrived!"

"Then _why_ did I see her coming down the stairs?" George asked. The backyard of the Burrow became deathly quiet. Even the gnomes crept up for a better view.

"LIARS! LIARS! LIARS!" George shouted. Scooping up a handful of mud, he threw it at Bill. Another handful of sludge went to Charlie and a third one went to Fred. But Fred was standing in front of Hermione and unluckily for George, Fred dodged aside.

With a _splat_ and a shriek, the handful of muck splashed across the pretty white shirt Hermione had picked out for the day. The girl stood stock-still for a moment, mouth hanging loosely in shock. Then, her eyes flashing dangerously, she drew herself up and let loose.

"_George Weasley_!" she shrieked, her magically magnified voice echoing around for miles. "How _dare_ you throw mud around like this, and ruin my shirt! I can't _believe_ you! It's my twenty-second birthday!"

A flash of _something_ burned in George's eyes and he dropped to his knees in stunned realisation. "I – what?" he stammered bewilderedly.

"Back to normal, then?" Fred asked, arms folded across his chest.

"I think so. And there's no need to be so smug," he added. "You're the one who was responsible for it anyway."

Drawing his wand from his back pocket (Bill was grateful that he had forgotten in was there while in the throes of badly-made Caffeine Potion), he sent a cleaning charm at Hermione's shirt, leaving it as spotlessly white as It had been before.

"Sorry about that," George said embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't really aware of what I was doing."

"I'll castrate Fred later," Hermione said with a smile, approaching George for a quick, soft kiss. He tried to grab her and make the kiss last longer, but she darted out of reach with a mischievous smile, drying and cleaning him off with a flick of her wand. Fred whimpered in fear.

When Hermione's back was turned, he shot a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Fred. Hermione pretended not to notice her boyfriend's twin wobbling around the backyard, and only Mrs Weasley took pity and cast a counter-charm. Grinning, George kissed Hermione again, tasting chocolate on her lips. Pulling back, he raised his eyebrows.

"I couldn't resist. The cake bowl was just _sitting_ there…" she trailed off with a guilty smile. He laughed and released her, twirling his wand to set up the last of the streamers. Everything was in place for the party and the guests started to arrive.

It was the usual crowd; Hagrid, Angelina, Seamus, Dean, Luna and assorted acquaintances Hermione had known since Hogwarts times. Beaming, she accepted a necklace with a Thestral fang threaded onto it from Hagrid, and books of every size and shape and colour and subject from several other party guests.

Course after course of food arrived from the kitchen and soon the thirty-odd people were seated at the table outside and eagerly digging into Mrs Weasley's dishes.

"Seems like the only thing that could shock George out of his Caffeine overdose was Hermione," Bill observed.

"Of course. I bet the only thing to shock you would be Fleur, or maybe little Victoire."

"What would be yours, then? A Hungarian Horntail? At least I have bigger concerns," Bill said with a roll of his eyes.

Annoyed, Charlie swallowed a piece of roast chicken. "I forgot to tell you earlier, but you have a splat of mud right over your wang."

Bill's eyes popped wide open and he gasped, scrubbing at his crotch. "Why didn't you tell me!" he hissed as the mud came off.

"I thought you had _bigger concerns_," Charlie said with a smirk.

Five minutes later, Charlie was eating mashed potato and Bill was still scrubbing at his pants.

"All right there, Family Guy?" Charlie snarked.

Bill's reply was sharp and annoyed.

"Oh shut up, Parley."

* * *

At the end of the meal, when everyone's pants were considerably tighter around the stomach, Ginny tapped a glass with her fork and rose.

"Harry and I have an announcement to make," she announced without a hint of awkwardness. Harry stood up too.

"Erm- as you all know," Harry began. George smothered a snigger. Boy-Who-Lived he may be, but he was totally incapable of speaking in public. "Ginny and I have been dating since the end of the war – that is, three and a half years. And – erm –"

Ginny sighed. "We're engaged," she said bluntly, holding up her left hand to show off the sparkling ring.

For exactly three seconds, there was dead silence at the table.

And then the evening exploded into a mess of congratulations and hugs and back-thumpings and joy. Hermione squealed and squeezed Ginny tightly before releasing her to examine the ring.

George, although he had arisen and pasted a smile on his face as he went to congratulate Harry, couldn't shake the feeling that his stomach had dropped to his toes.

_Ginny engaged. My little sister, engaged before me. Why does the Chosen One have such bloody good luck?_ He thought sourly to himself as he shook Harry's hand.

A small, warm hand slipped into his and he sighed, the knots in his back instantly relaxing. He smiled down at Hermione, careful not to show her his internal struggled. The box in his pocket seemed to go white hot and writhe with pressure and he stepped back slightly, cupping his hand around it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his twin giving him a go-for-it look. After glancing once again at his girlfriend – there was that word again – he attempted to call for silence.

"Ahem," he tried, to no avail. The ruckus continued uninterrupted.

"_Ahem_," he said again, a little louder.

"AHEM," he coughed, very loudly and obviously.

No one paid any heed. Cowed, he shrank back.

"What are you doing, mate?" Fred's voice sounded suddenly in his ear. Clutching a hand to his heart, he shot his twin a glare.

"Don't sneak up on me when I'm in a state like this."

Hermione had moved away and George spoke freely. "Isn't it sort of wrong to steal Harry and Ginny's lightning, or whatever the Muggles say?"

"Thunder," Fred corrected, "and they sort of stole yours first. I mean, Ginny _knew_ you were going to propose for real this time. Maybe this is her way of prompting you into action."

George considered his sister, who was exclaiming over the ring like everyone else. Right on cue, she turned to look at George with wide eyes. He read her expression and sighed.

"You're right. It was her sign to get into action. The only thing is getting silence." _But how to get it?_ George popped a mini treacle tart in his mouth as he considered the problem.

"How does one shut up thirty-odd people?" George asked Fred.

"Well, twin of mine, I think I may have an idea," Fred said, a familiar smirk sweeping across his face.

"_Excellent_," George and Fred exclaimed in unison. Fred, ever the lazy one, Apparated to his room in the Burrow and fetched an inconspicuous wooden box. George waited. Fred Apparated downstairs and dropped the box in a wizard-free place. George waited.

And with Fred's cry of "_Aguamenti!_", the night exploded for the second time as the box of WWW Wildfire Whiz-bangs (Wet-Start Version) exploded in the most fantastic combination of colours possible. Screams from witches and wizards alike resounded. Through the shapes of running women and men, he caught sight of Hermione shaking her head and smiling wryly. He made his way to her side and waited for the noise to settle down.

_And because nothing goes right for me where romance is concerned, _George thought to himself after five minutes of waiting, _it never will_.

Ten minutes passed.

And on the dot on the eleventh minute, George lost patience.

"WOULD ALL OF YOU BLOODY SHUT UP?" he roared, breathing heavily. The noise in the backyard ground to a halt and he turned to Hermione, red in the face. "Hermione. What I've been meaning to say, all these days –" A Wildfire Whizbang went off in the corner and George pinched the bridge of his nose as he dropped to one knee. "Despite the universe conspiring to prolong the occurrence of this announcement –" he took her hand in his.

"Hermione Jean Granger, will –" Ron tapped him on the shoulder and he whipped around, livid. "WHAT?"

"Erm," Ron said, looking uncomfortable. "You have soot on your arse."

"I couldn't give a bloody fuck about soot on my arse!" he turned back to her, watching her brown eyes widen with the realisation. "Oh, **for the love of Merlin**!" he cried in exasperation. "MARRY ME, HERMIONE!"

The whole yard suddenly became eerily quiet. Molly Weasley's head spun around to face them, to see Hermione with her hands over her mouth, nodding wordlessly with tears pooling in her eyes. To see George getting to his feet and scooping his girlfriend – now fiancée – up into a kiss.

"That," he told her sheepishly, "was not exactly the way I planned it. Looks I got the silence I wanted a little too late, eh?" She laughed and kissed him furiously, knowing she'd spend her life kissing these lips.

"It couldn't have been more perfect, George," she told him with a brilliant smile.

"Who knew that 'For the love of Merlin' was the ticket to getting a fiancée?" Ron asked Fred as they watched the couple.

"Not I, brother, not I," Fred said affectionately. "Oh, and, since we're all doing announcements," he said, raising his voice, "Angelina and I are dating." He pulled Angelina to his side.

"Good for you!" a few voices called out before returning to the congratulations and examinations of rings.

"That was probably just wrong timing," Fred said sheepishly to Angelina.

"Never do that again." Angelina admonished. "You should be lucky you didn't steal their lightning!"

"Thunder," Fred muttered.

And when George and Hermione finally reached home after hours of congratulations and hugs and kisses, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her so deeply that time seemed to freeze.

"It took me five failed attempts to get it right," he told her, his breath coming short. "And I still didn't get it right the last time."

Hermione kissed him softly. "I don't do romantic speeches and gifts and whatnot. 'For the love of Merlin'… it was funny and sweet and it was absolutely right for me."

Beyond words, George pressed his lips to hers, catching the taste of treacle and chocolate on the tip of her tongue. She clung to him, the smile on her lips evident as they kissed again and again.

"I love you, Hermione Granger."

"I love you too, George Weasley."

His fingers undid the top button of her shirt and they stumbled into their room, kicking the door closed behind them.

The promise of happiness lingered in the air.

* * *

**And yes, Hermione _did_ forget to castrate Fred. Oh, and I'm really sorry if you guys wanted me to describe a wedding but I suck at describing dresses and decorations and such, so you can go ahead and imagine your own.**

**Hope you enjoyed reading this!**

**Tara xoxo**


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